


Crown of Marigolds

by laurlovescookies



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, F/M, I am an Edeleth Shipper Why Am I Doing This, M/M, Minor Edelgard von Hresvelg/Bernadetta von Varley, OH GOD WHY, Sad and Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28671234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurlovescookies/pseuds/laurlovescookies
Summary: Comedy is when you finally ascend the Imperial throne of a unified Fodland. Tragedy is when you wait one day longer than planned to make your true feelings known. It's a little bit of both when your most devout servant falls for the only woman you've ever loved. Hubert/Byleth, one-sided Edelgard/Byleth.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Edelgard von Hresvelg & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Crown of Marigolds

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first attempt at writing a Fire Emblem fanfic. I really hope you enjoy, even if it's honestly bittersweet stuff.   
> So I've seen Edelgard and Hubert's S supports with Byleth. Edelgard's S support reveals she virtually always had strong feelings for Byleth. I doubt that would necessarily change even if someone else were to propose to Byleth before she could bring herself to.   
> But, (Spoiler alert) in Hubert's S support, Hubert reveals that Edelgard actually gives her blessing for him and Byleth to be together. While I do believe Hubert would ABSOLUTELY leave Byleth if Edelgard asked him to, I don't really believe El could bring herself to break up the two people she cares about the most in the world. Whatever it might wind up costing her emotionally. 
> 
> Marigolds, by the way, uh, represent thwarted love. Don't worry, Edelgard's heart will go on. 

When Hubert steps into Edelgard's office, the man appears at once so askance and ill-at-ease her immediate suspicion is that someone must have died. Someone _important._ After all, Hubert had not betrayed the smallest lip spasm nor shed a tear the day his own father was executed for treachery. Edelgard's darting quill comes to a stop on the edict she'd been composing moments ago. 

Slowly, Hubert approaches the dais, with as much enthusiasm as if he were approaching his own gallow steps. He comes to a stop in front of Rhea's old desk, bows perfectly and deeply. His spine is as straight as a steel rod, and just as unyielding as ever. But as he straightens Edelgard can see a fine layer of sweat twinkling on his brow under the candlelight. And Hubert somehow looks even more ashen and colorless than normal, a feat Edelgard privately doubted him capable of. 

"Hubert. You said it was urgent. What's the matter?"

Immediately her mind swirls around the possibilities of just _why_ Hubert has come to an audience looking so embarrassed, even ashamed-like a boy caught at wrongdoing instead of her invincible second hand. The Kingdom and the Alliance have been formally dissolved and assimilated into the Empire, Rhea struck down, the war to unify Fodland was at last at an end; what could possibly be the matter now? 

_Plenty,_ her mind warns, and most unbidden comes a parade of horrible images flashing before her eyes: Seteth and Flayn deciding to emerge from their exile, raising an insurrection of old church loyalists to commit and conspire against the Crown. Claude reneging on his word and somehow convincing foreigners with his silver tongue to attack Enbarr and dispose of Edelgard. Someone from the foul ranks of Those Whose Slither In The Dark launching pre-emptive attacks against Empire forces with more of their destructive, forbidden magic. Edelgard's free hand seizes the armrest of her chair.

Perhaps members of the Black Eagle Strike Force have been swept up in the attack this time. Possibly even their leader. Edelgard's mind closes around the ghastly thought like a steel trap, but the damage has been done and the fear is setting in now. Hot, terrible fear. The same kind of fear after their attack on Garreg Mach and _she_ was nowhere to be found no matter how desperately they dug in the rubble-

 _Enough. Even when she fell, she came back. Twice. She will always return to me._

"Forgive me, your Majesty." A strange attempt at a smile from Hubert. For a moment, Edelgard can understand just why Bernadetta finds Hubert's glee every bit as frightening as his wrath. "I actually come bearing good tidings." 

"Oh." Edelgard let out a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding and sank back against her gilded chair, jewels digging into her back. Not for the first time she thought Rhea purposefully had her furniture designed so that no one would possibly sit comfortably upon it. "Speak, then." 

"Yes. I..." The orator whose words normally flowed like water paused, coughed, and the strangest thing of all happened; Hubert _blushed_ , his ears flushing dark pink. Edelgard's pale blue eyes fell on the goblet of spiced wine sitting beside her, wondering just how much she'd drank. She could not recall having more than a disinterested sip or two. 

"To the point, then. I'm...I'm in love with someone." Hubert sounded nearly as disbelieving as Edelgard felt. "I wish to ask them to spend the rest of our lives together, if they'll have me. But first, I wished to ask for your blessing. I would never _dream_ of asking for anyone's hand without your prior consent. 

"Please understand. I still wish to remain forever at your disposal until I draw my last breath or you ask my leave. That is my most profound honor in life." His voice trembled with the emotion she so rarely glimpsed him show. "But there is someone...and I would profess a great attachment to her." A corner of his mouth flicked in another half-smile. "Whether or not she feels the same remains to be seen, but-" He shook his head helplessly. "I at least desire to grant myself the opportunity of an attempt to propose." 

_Oh_.

Agog, Edelgard stares, realizes her mouth has slipped open, and hurriedly shuts it once again. This could not be more shocking or perplexing than Caspar renouncing fighting and becoming a monk, or Bernadetta deciding to travel the world, or Dorothea declaring her love for all things pertaining to the nobility. A direct challenge to reality itself. A giggle almost bubbled free and Edelgard held it fast; while she and Byleth could laugh about such things together in private, Hubert was not the sort of friend whose dignity Edelgard would impose upon. Much. 

_Perhaps,_ she reasons, watching her squirming vassal with gentle amusement, _This is not too surprising a turn of events at all._ Of _course_ Hubert would eventually find someone whom struck his fancy. It was ridiculous and downright self-serving to assume he possessed no personal life of his own, whatever fealty he had sworn to Edelgard. Even if his charm was admittedly of an... _evasive_ nature to the world at large, Hubert was desperately stalwart, protective to a fault, and only too willing and capable to reduce the mountains and hills to dust if need be.

Or even if not need be. Such was his penchant for... _enthusiasm_. 

"Who's the lucky one?" Perhaps one of the former academy students. Hubert wouldn't dream of consorting with anyone whose allegiance fell under an enemy banner during the war. While Petra, Dorothea, Caspar, and Lindhart are all spoken for, Bernadetta and Ferdinand remain. It's harder to imagine which of those two would be a stranger prospect for Hubert. 

"...it's Byleth." Hubert's face is disbelieving of his own words, and yet soft, undeniably tender and unmistaken. "Byleth is the one I love. I wish to marry Byleth." 

_Crack._

The tip of Edelgard's owl feather quill breaks and her inkwell tumbles over. All the scarlet words Edelgard had been so meticulously laboring over are immediately submerged in what looks like tar, or a Black Sea.

Somewhere in the distance there are birds chirping pensively outside her window. Their sleepy rhythm is untroubled, regardless of what Edelgard has just learned. Her face is filling up with fire-no, that isn't it, she's freezing, despite the fact that there's a roaring fire in the hearth but a few feet away. Her once beautiful quill-a gift from Ferdinand upon her recent coronation-is now filthy in her inkstained fingers and she's frozen over, cold, cold, colder than she recalls ever been. 

"Your majesty?" Hubert inquires anxiously as Edelgard attempts to wipe her fingertips clean in vain with a handkerchief. "Are you well?" 

"Of course." Edelgard's crisp voice sounds far too away even to her own ears. "I was simply..." She's heard the power of her voice before her troops a thousand times, yet it seems stripped of its usual command and authority. Bare. "Surprised." There. That isn't falsehood. Desperate to be the portrait of composure, she crosses her leg, props her chin in hand, and smiles languidly down at her sheepish vassal. "And to think once you suggested we err on the side of caution and kill her before she could take arms as Rhea's vassal against us. I assume this means you've changed your stance since our academy days?" 

"Forgive me." Hubert's plea steps on her question mark, and Edelgard's smile vanishes. "You could not find the idea more reprehensible than I do myself. She was instrumental to our cause, in the end. You were right." He bows once again. For a moronic second Edelgard entertains indulging in a sip of wine every time Hubert prostrates himself. But then she really would be reeling in seconds, inclined to say everything and anything. 

Such as the truth. 

"Forgive me, Hubert. I only tease." These sound like the correct words to say, so Edelgard cautiously continues. "I am truly...." Why was it so much simpler to discuss and devise schemes or military tactics? "Truly happy for you." Her voice does something strange on _happy_. 

If the other Black Eagles were present, they would surely say such things without a moment's hesitation. And Edelgard wishes, wishes with all her might that only she were nearly so kind-hearted as her friends, to whom goodness comes so readily and naturally. _Unlike you,_ the old voice Byleth has largely silenced within Edelgard sneers. _You've worn a thousand faces and not a single one has been your own_. 

_Except, of course, for the one you show_ her. _The person for whom your world begins and ends._

_And soon she'll be spirited away before you ever match footsteps down the aisle._

"What is most essential now is that you follow your heart." _Pretty advice to give, but harder to follow yourself,_ Edelgard reasons. Particularly when your own heart is actively slipping up your chest and lodging itself in your throat, swelling. "Your feelings are fair tidings for Byleth as well. I must confess, I worried our dear professor might inadvertently be matched with some sort of scoundrel as her partner. " _Or anyone other than myself._ "I'd much sooner she be with someone trustworthy-don't give me that look, Hubert, you _are_ -whom can help ensure her safety. This is still a court where smiles can sheath daggers." 

"Yes." Hubert's smile is still a touch worried, but his eyes are bright and sure as stars. "I will not see her fall when we've come so far. Never." He strikes his own breast for emphasis. "Through darkness and light alike, I will be her cloak of protection for the rest of our days."

Hubert seems to feel he spoke too much, for he coughs into his gloved hand and stares at the tapestry on the wall, apparently quite fascinated.

Edelgard does not doubt him. The sentiment does not make her feel better. 

"Did you have anything else you need tell me? Perhaps you would like to begin making the arrangements for your wedding feast now." 

"Her Majesty is feeling facetious today," mumbles Hubert, without much heat or bite. "You realize she has yet to know of my feelings, let alone accept my proposal." 

"But she will," counters Edelgard sweetly. Hubert's face darkens once again, but he doesn't dare doubt her. She envies his conviction. 

Among other things. 

"If that is all, you may go." 

"Yes, your Majesty." And with a grateful bow Hubert accepts his dismissal and heads for the door. 

Stricken, Edelgard stares at his retreating figure, and before she can stop herself her accursed mouth is opening and she calls out "Hubert," as if not of her own accord. 

Her most loyal servant turns to face her again. Edelgard bites her lower lip so hard she can almost feel the skin break. Then, with all due poise and dignity she proceeds to tear her own heart free of its cavity. 

She often frequents the Tower on quiet evenings. Do not keep her waiting."

Spurred at the prospect of an actual order-as Edelgard knew he would be-Hubert nods. "Of course." 

Hubert heads for the door. Edelgard continues smiling politely, just in case Hubert should turn once more. But his retreating figure does not pause again. There is a renewed vigor to his step, his cape fluttering from the pace of a man with a quest. One that will in all great likelihood succeed, if Byleth looks at Hubert in all the colors of the setting sun and sees the man _entirely._ None of the affected coldness, swagger or menace Hubert had created in hopes of casting a protective smog around his princess. Edelgard bites the inside of her cheek hard to prevent herself from making another treasonous noise. 

Scatter that practiced facade with the winds and you would find a man relentlessly loyal to those who managed to earn his hardwon respect. Someone who had done everything to rescue Edelgard when she was trapped in the very bowels of hell, though it had cost him his freedom. Someone who yearned to do away with injustice and make the world a better place, though he could have so easily turned on Edelgard and been rewarded handsomely for her troubles. He assured her time and time again that he would be her friend even if she were friendless, and readily cut a bloody path to revolution in order to help his mistress reshape the world as she saw fit. He had cast away pride and earnestly entreated the professor to do what he was so convinced he was himself incapable: To provide emotional support to those who had forsaken their homes and families in order to join Edelgard's cause. Edelgard's eyes prickle like a warning, and she blinks furiously. There's still ink soaking the parchment she'd been working on, bleeding like a wound. 

_He even wore soft fabric flowers in order to put Bernadetta at ease._

When they beheld Hubert in the frilly flowers Bernadetta made for him, Caspar and Ferdinand laughed at him until they wept. Begrudging, Hubert had done it just the same for Bernadetta. Edelgard recalls being quite proud of him that day. She's prouder still of her second in command upon emerging from the flaming depths of the war not unscarred, but triumphant. _Such a worthy and deserving soul, even if he's the last person to ever acknowledge it._

Of course Byleth would know all this. She would have to. It was one of the best and inconvenient things about Byleth-the way her beautiful, unyielding eyes could burrow so deeply into a person, see someone at their core as they truly were. Edelgard would scarcely be surprised if Byleth already knows perfectly well of Hubert's true feelings for her. Perhaps her recent wish to spend much of the evenings in the goddess tower reflecting was something of an invitation. And Hubert's accepting it. 

_Was it an open invitation_? _Could I have taken her hand? What would she have said? Would she know what I was going to say even before I said it?_

Edelgard scatters the hope sporing in her mind against her will and stands because she can't bear sitting still anymore. Like a drunk, she staggers out the door herself. Thankfully Hubert has not chosen to dawdle in the corridors with the guard-he never was a man taken to idling like Lindhart. She ignores the urge to run, run, run for her life to the goddess tower herself, throw her own heart at her beloved teacher's feet, and clasp Byleth's hand in her own. Somehow Edelgard moves up a flight of monastery stairs-a curious feat, considering she has no feeling in her legs. 

The evening sun is pouring in through the stained glass windows, painting the school in a firestorm of color and light. It's beautiful, but Edelgard feels like she is burning alive in it. 

Consumed by light. An odd, but almost poetic way to go. Much better than giving in to the terribly pervasive urge to throw herself out one of these windows here and now. She shakes her head in disgust. 

_To think. To have survived all this bloodshed and horror, only to allow a banal l--- story to be the end of me. How truly pitiable._

But of course Byleth will say yes to Hubert's proposal. She would be a simpleton not to. And Edelgard will offer her congratulations to her dearest friend, the one whom gave Edelgard her most cherished dream. Or at least what had once been Edelgard's most cherished dream the moment before Byleth saved her life and her soul the first of many times. Edelgard closes her eyes, wondering if her face appeared as bloodless and cold as Hubert's had appeared flushed and full of promise. 

" _Byleth is the one I love. I wish to marry Byleth_." 

Despite the fact that she burns with frenetic energy, moving with no direction or purpose is now agonizing. Edelgard hastily retreats into her temporary personal chambers, almost wishing she were surrounded by enemy soldiers and had her relic in hand. Her empty hands twitch in longing as she slams the door shut with more force than strictly necessary. She stares at her reflection in the mirror with as much astonishment as if encountering a stranger. Very possibly she is-she looks mad, gaunt, her mouth a thin line. And she's trembling. It feels like the only thing in the world to be glad of now is the fact that no one can possibly see her this way in here.

Except, of course, that's not entirely the case. Byleth's eyes have found her even here, in the portrait Edelgard had made of her in the rare free moments she could steal during the war. Edelgard has never quite regret making it so much, not even when Byleth's eyes fell upon the painting and Edelgard nearly died out of sheer mortification. 

Turning her back on Byleth-she can still feel that gaze on her back like a silent question-Edelgard collapses on her four-poster, face in her hands. She tastes rust on the way down. 

This _helplessness_ -the likes of which she felt as she bled, held down by irons as her siblings died all around her in the darkness- is utterly infuriating. 

No, she's far from helpless, and that's really the worst of it, though Edelgard has spent much of her waking existence dedicated to never experiencing the shame and horror of helplessness ever again. She's the emperor, far from helpless in the least. She buries her face in her old bear's faded and reassuring fur. 

Even now, Hubert might not have reached the tower just yet. Edelgard can summon the guard to fetch him. And she could tell Hubert on no uncertain terms that she wants Byleth for her own. Loyal to the very end, Hubert would unquestioningly pull away from Byleth forever without one glance backward. Even if his heart silently tore in two doing so. He would never take what Edelgard wanted, even if it was the only thing he had ever asked for _himself,_ save for perhaps her Majesty's pardon. And while Edelgard could reassure herself that Hubert would simply find love elsewhere eventually, she suspected Hubert was of the species whom fell in love once, and only once, in their lifetime. He would never declare his love for anyone else the way he could for Byleth. _Birds of a feather flock together._

Edelgard lets out a hollow, bitter laugh, all the while ashamed of herself. _Hubert truly is like his mistress more than he'll ever know._

Precisely why Edelgard cannot take away the only one he's ever wanted. Even if she were, incidentally, the only one Edelgard ever truly wanted. _  
_

She remembers the war's coda in the burning capital, when Edelgard had cradled Byleth's motionless figure in her arms, believed her dead, and wished with all her might that she were dead too. Even if Rhea had at last been slain and was smoldering in the ruins of the wicked caste system Edelgard had shredded apart, a world without Byleth wasn't one Edelgard was particularly interested in existing in again. It was inconceivable. 

Then of course Byleth shifted slightly, and Edelgard dared to lay her ear against Byleth's breast once more. Even if it meant being torn apart by false hope then and there. But Byleth's heartbeat answered, the sweetest thing Edelgard has ever heard, and her lament turned to pure euphoria and relief. As Edelgard held Byleth in the heart of a crimson flower of fire and wept, the refrain that fluttered inside her pure and true was unmistakable: 

_I love her. I love her, I love her, I love her_. 

Edelgard's closed fist flew against her bed. Was she truly the empress of a unified Fodland, and not some spoiled child throwing a tantrum? 

Why had she not told Byleth so then and there? Because words had not sufficed, nor had the tears that came as sure and true like the rain that came at the end of the battle. Byleth needed to be carried back to the healers, though no one could explain why her hair and eyes had inexplicably turned a beautiful royal blue once more. Edelgard could do nothing but stagger beside her dearest friend in the stretcher, her red eyes shot with tears as members of the Black Eagle Strike Force rushed to embrace her from all corners of the battlefield. Even Hubert had forgotten his usual dignity and poise and seized her in an iron grasp-the first he had ever given her since the experimentation had ended. 

The prisoners of war had to be rounded up and dealt with appropriately. Edelgard had to be crowned and begin arranging her government in earnest. The days went by. There was so much work to be done. Byleth needed to heal before Edelgard could ask for her hand. She owed her friend that much, Edelgard told herself. But perhaps that was mere cowardice. When did Edelgard be a meek sheep when she did not wait for anything she truly wanted? Why was plunging a continent into a five year power struggle, dismantling an alliance of lords and a kingdom and a centuries old church with an unofficial dictatorship and iron fist less daunting a prospect than telling Byleth she loved her desperately?

But there's no use in feeling sorry for herself. Not when the story is already written, or is good as. Edelgard slowly pulls out an old chest from underneath her bed and produces a delicate, sparkling silver key from her necklace. She sets to work unlocking the numerous locks upon the chest, pausing to trace the faded painted marigolds upon the wood. Mother was a much better artist than Edelgard herself can ever hope to be. 

Upon opening the box that still smells faintly of sandalwood and dried flowers, Edelgard silently pulls out a magnificent white veil studded with pearls that sparkle like newly fallen snow. It streams from a golden circlet glittering with jewel-encrusted marigolds. Newly-crowned King Ionius IX was said to have spared no expense in commissioning this priceless gift as a wedding present for his bride-to-be, which she had worn at their wedding ceremony. Edelgard silently turned the magnificent over in her palms. After a foolish moment's pause she placed it on her head. At least it did not slip and tilt the way it had when she was a small child placing it on her own brow, playing dress up. She almost smiles, turning to gaze at herself in the mirror. She almost looks like a bride. Almost. She tugs at the white fabric and wonders why it suddenly resembles something like a funeral shroud flowing around her. 

She should lend it to Byleth. It's the very least Edelgard could do for her, and it's such a beautiful veil-it deserves to be worn for a happy day once more. As for Hubert, he'll be adorned well in all the lordly splendor the Empire can possibly give him. Hubert and Byleth gave Edelgard the world-the least she can do is give them to each other. Even if the contents of her stomach positively curdle when it slowly dawns on her she may very well be asked to give them their vows. Hubert would truly love that. Hopefully if Byleth looks up at the officiant in Edelgard's mother's veil and smiles, she'll believe that Edelgard's tears are from sheer joy once again.

Clutching a corner of the veil to her eyes, Edelgard sinks to her knees and prays to whomever's listening with whatever scraps of leftover faith she has left remaining. There are polite taps on the door and she mumbles some excuse. Wrapped in the veil like a blanket, still holding her ratty old bear, she curls up on the floor then and there and fitfully drifts away to the closest destination away.

But no matter where Edelgard goes, there she is. 

And _her._

There are always Byleth's eyes, eternal on the water. 

~o*oOo*o~

**Author's Note:**

> *Sighs* 
> 
> This was actually inspired from when a girl I was in love with asked me to be her bridesmaid when she married a man. He was a really nice guy and I'm genuinely happy for them both. Writing stuff like this is actually strangely carthatic in a way because I get the emotions out and I feel ready to move on. You can decide what happens in the end. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


End file.
